Angel
by WildeyedJoker
Summary: Bella and Edward met 10 years ago when she is almost raped. Bella believes Edward, 17, is an angel and knows they will meet again. Now 17, a dejected Bella moves to Forks in an attempt to forget him. What happens when she sees him again, still 17?
1. Chapter 1

1. Wonderwall

Isabella Marie Swan

_January 23, 1999_

It is raining abysmally outside and it barely rains in Phoenix, Arizona. I am perched on top of the caramel-glazed desk where I have placed my battered copy of Flowers for Algernon and my black sequinned pouch. I look through the sash windows that are firmly-closed against the unseasonable chill, watching a thin layer of mist pressing itself intently against the glass. I drum my fingers noiselessly against the pane, still waiting.

"Bella, would you like me to drive you home, dear?"

I peer over my shoulder and see Catherine, my dance teacher, standing before me on her pair of burnished silver pumps. She is covered in an oversized maroon coat with a cream-white wool scarf wounded tightly around her neck. She looks almost like a goddess.

"My mum will be here soon. She says she needs to run some errands at work. She's a really busy woman, Miss Catherine," I say, my fingers braiding themselves into my hair that hang in curls of chocolate-brown around my face.

"Your mum just called, Bella. She can't make it to the dance studio on time and it's getting late already. I suggested giving you a ride home and she agreed," she explains in her canorous voice, smiling warmly at me.

I nod thoughtfully, slightly angry at Renee for ditching me when she has promised to treat me a tub of Ben and Jerry's to make up for forcing me to attend ballet classes. I have been craving for cookie dough ice cream since morning when I was served a bowl of cold cereal and a can of lukewarm Orange Crush-typical Renee-served breakfast, even on my first day of middle school which, for majority of parents, is suppose to be some hoo-ha of a moment.

"I think I should make my way home myself. My house is just three blocks away and I wouldn't want to bother you, Miss Catherine," I tell her, tone saturated with gratitude as I sling my pouch over my shoulder and grab my silky pink ballet pumps Charlie bought me last month from the table hastily.

Her brows are furrowed as I shuffle toward her in my off-white sneakers. "Are you sure, Bella? It's raining quite heavily outside and I don't want anything bad happening to you. "

"Really, I'm ok. I usually walk home myself, even in the rain. And if anything bad happens to me, no one but me should be blamed," I assure her, stepping over the carpeted floor as Madame De Cruz, the aged owner of the studio, began switching off the fluorescents overhead.

"Bella, it amazes me you are Renee's daughter. You seem so different from her and I've known her since high school," she tells me with a bemused expression, draping an arm over my shoulder as we walk through the sliding doors.

We bade goodbye to Madame De Cruz who just gives a curt nod and continue dusting the counters and pots of aspidistras arranged copiously along the west wall. Catherine's moss green Honda is parked just in front of the studio and she approaches it, keys around a slender finger.

"Wait there, Bella. I'll get you an umbrella. It is here, somewhere." She gropes around the backseat for the umbrella and I stand in the corner, putting my hood on over my head.

Her head pokes out from the door and she hands me a bright yellow umbrella with a grin as though she has acquired some national treasure. I tuck it under an arm as she slides onto the vinyl seat of her car.

"Have a safe trip, dear. And don't forget, next week classes are still on, at eight sharp. Don't be late," she reminds me as she ignites her engine and the car peels off the slick-wet vacant road in a second.

I make my way southwards toward Renee's apartment, keeping my head on the concrete pavement where there are minuscule pools of rainwater. I try to avoid any wet surface as much as possible for my lack of balance and knack of falling. The roads are dimly-lit by the yellowish glow from the streetlights. I count the blocks of houses I have walked pass and hum to myself a random tune I have heard off the radio.

My heart is beating in my throat as I shuffle through a dingy alley, kicking away rolling empty decanters and Lays packages. My palms begin to sweat slightly and a shiver runs down my spine. I have never felt this particular fear before; I have crossed this alley alone innumerable times. I quicken my pace, breathing rugged, when I hear voices behind me. Men voices.

"Hey, little girl, where are you off to running so fast? Don't be scared, sugar," one of them says drunkenly as he galumphs toward me, hands clasped around a beer can.

"Ronnie, don't scare her away like that, you fool. You are the fairest of them, aren't ya?" another, more gargantuan man mutters, his horn-rimmed glasses askew.

I don't look back and continue walking, attempting to shut out the voices in vain. The gargantuan one blocks my path and the other pushes me to the brick wall roughly, his breath reeking of cigarettes and pickle juice.

"Get off me! Get off me!" I yell, struggling in his arms and gripping the sling of my pouch as tightly as I can.

"Relax, honey. This will not hurt at all," he mutters into my ear as he tugs at the hem of my skirt with sausage-like fingers, attempting to rip them off.

The other man, wearing a pair of stone-white baggy jeans that had been ripped at the knees and a ratty Batman t-shirt, lets out a loud yowl and grasps locks of my hair. I breathe heavily and in an immeasurable second, sink my teeth into his meagre flesh, tasting the saltiness of his perspiration and the iron of blood.

"Fuck you!" he screams, covering his bitten arm with a hand as he jerks away and ends up falling on the layer of general debris, hitting his head on one of the Dumpsters.

"How dare you, bitch," his beefy friend spits at me and it dribbles erroneously on the fabric of his shirt.

His hands work through my hood rapidly, his countenance that of feverish covet. His hand is clasped over my mouth as I am just about to scream for dear life. Tears are beginning to well up in my eyes and soon, I have lost the thread of my thoughts. Maybe this is fated; this is the way I should die. Ripped off my privacy, off my virginity. I would curl up and die here in this very alley, exposed and snow-cold. I wouldn't even want to think what would happen to Renee if I was gone.

"Hey!"

Is that the ethereal shout of an angel? God, I am already dead that fast. I don't even feel any pain piercing through my still beating heart. Should death even come with pain? I am clueless but all I know, his filthy hands have stopped unbuttoning my shirt and the air is so cold, I can't breathe right anymore. The night has reached such a depth of velvety blackness. I huddle in a fetal position, eyes closed so tightly it might as well be glued to the skin. The stench of the savage man sticks to every fraction of my skin.

"Hey, are you alright? God, you're cold," the voice of the angel once more greets me in my stupor an immeasurable moment later as he wraps me in my jacket and carries me off in his arms. He has really white skin, sort of a pearly glow.

"Are you an angel?" I ask as he places me carefully on a wooden bench. We are in the park where Renee always jogs in the mornings.

I am able to see his face clearly now. He is beautiful. He is wearing a beige shirt that fits him perfectly, the sleeves pushed to the crease of his elbows. His thick, black brows furrow as he looks at me as though I have gone mad, a line appearing between them. His lips are chapped and he needs a haircut but still, I think he is the most beautiful person I have met in my eight years of existence besides Catherine.

"Your hand is hurt. I should send you to a hospital," he says, examining my arms that shiver beneath his cool, placating touch.

"You haven't answered my question." My cheeks are fire-flushed as I discreetly button up my shirt back with nimble fingers.

He smiles meekly. "No, I'm just Edward. And you are?

"Isabella. But you can just call me Bella."

He nods. "Why are you out so late, Bella? Are you lost?"

"No, I was just walking home from my ballet class. My mum couldn't drive me home." I remember that I have left Catherine's umbrella in the alley. But I don't wish to be there anymore.

"Well, maybe I should give your mum a ring," he says in a more serious tone, looking out for the nearest pay phone.

"Please, don't tell her," I exhort, putting my hands over his as I gaze into his hazel-green eyes.

His jaw is clenched and he stares back at me, mulling. He nods again and relief washes over me. I don't want Renee suddenly caring for me and suggesting to call the authorities. This is Phoenix and the incident that occurred is almost a ritual here.

"Let me walk you home, Bella," he offers and we hold hands as we begin walking toward the direction of the apartment.

"How old are you, Bella?" he asks, his eyes wrinkling as he smiles. He looks a little my English teacher, Mr. Roberts, only he is more slender.

"Eight. You?" I lie. I am seven, turning eight in December. It must have made me feel a lot mature.

"Seventeen. But you seem a whole lot older than eight. The way you speak, you sound almost like an adult," he asserts thoughtfully and I just smile as he lets me lead the way toward the direction of my home.

"Most people say I was born adult. But it's kind of depressing, don't you think?"

"What do you mean?" he queries with teeth hooking to chapped lips as he swings our hands together a little.

"It seems like my childhood is being ripped off too soon. I mean I'm eight and I have to help my mum settle the bills and cook dinner for her. All my other friends are having sleepovers and playing dress up," I say, lips forming into a pout.

He chortles silently, slipping his other hand into the back pocket of his black jeans. "Well, I'm no different than you. I had to take care of my little brothers and sisters when my parents died in a car crash a year ago. But it's kind of great right? You learn so much about yourself when others sneak pot cookies to prom night and drink themselves dead."

My forehead corrugates. "What are pot cookies?"

It is as though a particular realization dawns on him and he looks at me with helpless eyes. "Um, you'll know what they are when you're older."

I merely nod, listening to the rhythm of our footsteps. We are already nearing Renee's apartment. The windows are pitch-black.

"Well, I'm here."

I climb up the three steps to the door and he waits for me, smiling. "Thanks for helping me. I can't imagine what would have happened if you weren't there. What happened to them anyway?"

"Beat them into pulps. But don't worry; I don't think they'll bother you anymore."

I nod and begin unlocking the door. "So, I'll see you around?"

"You will, Bella. Definitely."

And I instantly know I will see him again from the twinkle of his almond-shaped eyes. I am positive. My hands reach for my pouch. I smile. It is still intact.

_June 27, 2009_

I am dreaming of my eight-year old self, in white leotards and a crumpled white shirt, with my black sequinned pouch which I loved. I dream of him again, with his alabaster skin and shining eyes as he wrapped me securely in my crimson jacket and whisked me off to the quiet park. I still vividly remember his smile and the questions he had asked. His voice is still so clear in my head. I have dreamt of him for almost eight years, praying hard I would catch a glimpse of him anywhere in the park or Quizznoz. But I never see him again after that night.

When I am awake, I almost forget where I am. Cerulean ceiling and cream white walls greet me with empty vapidity. I prop myself up on my elbows and look through the opened mullioned windows. The overhanging trees sway slightly with the wind and rain pelts against the glass pane. Realization hits me upon seeing the dull, gray light of an overcast morning. Of course, I am on my bed, in a bedroom I haven't slept in eighteen years, in the town of Forks, Washington.

I slip my feet into a pair of battered sheepskin slippers and walk to the bathroom, grabbing my toiletries bag from my wide-open luggage. I shower and dress in my grey jeans and a brown pullover. I don't bother to look at myself on the mirror and throw my books into my rucksack and leave the bedroom door ajar. I can hear frying noises from the kitchen. It must be Charlie, attempting to cook some real breakfast for my first day attending Forks High School. At least, he took the initiative unlike Renee.

"You're up early," he greets me with a hurried kiss on the forehead as he plops two fried eggs on a ceramic plate.

"I wished I could sleep in though. The weather, really. I can go on hibernate-mode forever," I say, spilling some juice on the Formica table.

"Is that why you moved here, Bella? To get a good night's sleep?" he asks, arching a brow as he wipes the orange liquid with a checked dishtowel.

I grin but I remain mute. I scoop some overcooked sausages on the two blue plates and Charlie places some runny eggs onto the side of the plate. I bite through a piece of the sausage and am shocked by his apparent hidden talent for cooking a decent breakfast. Renee would have set the kitchen on fire in nanoseconds.

"You know, I'm glad that you're here. I don't really mind if you're not willing to tell your mother and I why you decided to move back to Forks so suddenly. I am contented enough," he tells me, sipping some of the juice as he smiles reassuringly at me.

My fork digs through the fried eggs as I nod again, not speaking. I love my father. Charlie Swan, chief of police, widowed by own mother since I was an infant. I used to go for trips with him or stay over in his house for whole summers when I was a kid. He would take me to his fishing expeditions with his friends who lived in the La Push area. I absolutely loathed them but just being with my father, I felt oddly special.

"I think I should get going now, Dad," I say, chasing the last of the sausages and eggs with a glass of milk.

"Oh, Bella, I have a little surprise for you actually. It came early in the morning, about 7 am," he mutters mostly to himself as he dumps our plates into the sink and takes my bag for me before I had a chance to grab it from the linoleum floor.

"Surprise? Dad, you didn't get me a gift, right?" I shoot him an accusing look as he leads the way to the backyard.

"Well, I did get ahead of myself a little but I think you will love it, Bella."

My mouth is agape as I gaze at the faded, crimson exteriors and the bulbous cab of an aged Chevy truck parked on the patch of gravel, just waiting for me. I move towards it in measured steps, hands outstretched as I run my hands across the rough surfaces of the metal. I touch the cool handle of the door to the driver's seat, feeling a slight nervousness spiralling through me. Charlie puts his hand over mine and pulls the door open.

"Get in, Bella," he tells me and I slide onto the ebony vinyl seat.

The insides smell faintly of peppermint and a slight scent of cinnamon. The compartment area is empty apart from some sweet wrappers jammed in the corner and parking tickets from the last decade. I grip the steering wheel firmly in my hands and envisage myself driving on long stretches of empty, winding roads leading to nowhere. I feel like kissing Charlie already.

"Dad, I love this. I can't thank you enough," I murmur, peering at him over a shoulder as he stands beside me, smiling like a proud father.

"It's nothing, really. I got it off my friend, you know Billy Black, for a cheap price. It's an antique, made in the 1950s."

I don't have a clue who this Billy Black is but I am thankful. Charlie places my bag on the back seat and hands me a folded map of Forks which I don't need. I rev the engine and it lets out a guttural, spitting noise like all other ancient cars do.

"Goodbye, Bella, honey."

_WildeyedJoker-Hey I have tweaked a few details in the story so yeah, Ill update soon :)_


	2. Chapter 2

2. Juggernauts

Isabella Marie Swan

"Isabella. You must be the new girl right?"

My head turns slightly to my left where a lean-built guy with shorn dirty-blonde hair and a toothy grin is seated. I smile weakly at him, chagrin washing over me. I have gone through about thirty of that statement in less than two hours and I think I already need a Tylenol and some Orange Crush to chase it down. Forks High School did not turn out to be what I had miserably expected back in Phoenix where the sun still burnt my skin to scarlet patches-it is worst.

"It's just Bella actually," I say between compressed lips as I watch him doodling over a piece of scrap sketch- book paper.

"Um, Bella. That's nice," he comments, looking over me with lazy, cerulean-blue eyes.

He smiles again, a little too widely. His teeth are porcelain-white and perfect and his lips seem to part a little as his eyes lazily scan the piece of yellow paper Mr. Mason has distributed. His looks are a tad too boyish for my fancy. I turn back to the blackboard where the prematurely balding teacher who is wearing brown polyester pants and a crumpled pinstriped shirt is scrawling something in his barely legible handwriting. My brows arch_. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same. _

"Now can anyone here tell me where I had gotten this quote from?" Mr. Mason inquires in a mock cheery tone as his eyes swivel over the faces of his students who are hardly awake after his thirty-minute lecture on John Keats.

All remain motionless and mute, heads bowed to their tables as they attempt to avoid Mason's pernicious gaze. He sighs heavily, putting a hand over his mahogany work desk. I bite the skin of my chapped lips and feel the iron tang of blood beneath my tongue.

"Come on, anyone please?" he seems to be cadging now, horn-rimmed glasses askew over the prominent bridge of his nose.

"Um, Wuthering Heights, Emily Bronte?" I mutter, feigning uncertainty as I twirl my pen between my fingers.

He looks almost like I have a whole novel dedicated to him. "Yes, yes, Miss Swan! Wuthering Heights, exactly. Have you read it before, Miss Swan?"

I nod, immediately regretting my decision of answering him. "Yeah, it's one of my favourite books."

He guffaws as my cheeks start to redden. I can hear the guy beside me trying to stifle a giggle and I wish I can be invisible. I suppose if I could have powers, I just wanted to disappear whenever. He approaches my table in three clumsy steps and gives the ancient wood a slight pat.

"First day and you're already my favourite, Bella," he tells me and returns to his desk while I attempt to dodge appraising looks from my neighbours who are either awed (male) or not amused (female).

I grit my teeth and sink in my chair. The dirty-blonde hair guy taps my table with elongated fingers and I am forced to look into his eyes that are tainted hazel.

"I'm Mike. I guess I forgot to tell you that," he introduces himself to me just as I thought he was going to mock me for earning my unappreciated title of Mason's pet just minutes into his class.

I nod, not responding as I shove the map of Forks High School and other pieces of paper I got from the school office upon registering my name into a plastic white folder. I am in no mood for conversations and I am beginning to dislike this town very much despite my choice of moving in with my long-widowed father due to reasons which suddenly seem silly as I think of it now.

"So you want to sit together during lunch? I'll treat you," he offers as he gradually discerns I am ignoring him completely as I busy myself with my stationery.

"Yeah, whatever, Mike," I tell him, staring him straight into the eyes and realize he is just trying to be friendly.

His lips turn up at the sides and there are laugh lines carved into his olive skin. "Great, I'll introduce you to my friends. They're gonna love you."

I cringe inwardly as Mason gives us instructions on our latest assignment on Wuthering Heights. We have to write a five-hundred word book report on the novel which is to be handed in by Monday next week. I almost have the whole work of Emily Bronte typed out on a fraction of my mind. I hear mutinous moans from the other students and then the obstreperous scratching of chairs against linoleum after Mason has dismissed us.

I grab my bag and sling it over my shoulder. It is lunch now and Mike is already rushing to the door where I am headed, a sizeable stack of books in tow. We engage in a little sociable conversation as we walk toward the cafeteria. I learn that he is in the football team of Forks High and have high aspirations of being a lawyer. He hates cherries and loves to watch Elizabeth Taylor flicks when he is feeling sappy. Oh, and he has a habit of scratching the tip of his nose as he talks. He asks me for my number and I give him with a heavy heart.

I feel like I know him for ten years.

We reach in seconds and the cafeteria is not as buzzing as it had been in my previous school. My eyes briefly scan the round blue tables and the white-washed walls of the place. Students are beginning to pour into the cafeteria, chatting and gesticulating wilding with long acquaintances. Mike gets me a tray of food along with his and he directs me to two combined tables in the centre.

"Hey guys, this is Bella, Bella these are the guys," Mike announces as I wait silently beside him, watching the gazes of his previously rowdy friends with little patience.

"Oh, Bella, you're the new girl. I saw you in trig but you didn't seem to notice me. I'm Jessica by the way," a petite blonde in a pink cashmere sweater and matching earrings greets me with a slight envy in her ebony eyes.

"Hi, Jessica," I murmur, not knowing what else to say as Mike pushes a seat for me.

"Hi, Bella. I'm Angela. I was in your trig class too," a bespectacled girl says as she smiles warmly at me.

I smile back at her and immediately have a soft spot for her. One by one, each of his friends welcome me with either beaming countenances or cold stares (that one is particularly by Lauren Mallory). Eric, pimple-faced and geeky, gazes at me funny.

"Look at little Eric, he's drooling already," Mike teases, throwing a stick of celery at Eric.

Eric looks like he has just stirred from a dream. His eyes move at me sheepishly. "Bella, your eyes, they're just beautiful."

Mike's eyes are protuberant and I feel a blush creeping up my nape. The whole table chortles and shouts as Tyler nudges Eric's ribs with his elbows. I purse my lips, digging my fork into the splatter of scrambled eggs and sausages. I sip some Orange Crush (thank God the vending machine has it) to calm a little of my nerves. I am a naturally very nervy person. I look around the cafeteria as they continue their mindless chatter, imagining patterns into the white plaster of the empty walls. Jessica lets out a loud laugh and brushes her hand over Mike's.

"Bella, you should join us tomorrow night. We're having a bonfire party at First Beach with some other people," Tyler tells me suddenly, attracting my attention that has veered off to the furthest corner of the cafeteria where my eyes catch the slightest of gold tinted hair.

"Oh, um, sure. Where's First Beach?"

"It's in La Push, I think you haven't been there yet. I'll drive you if you want, Bella," Mike says, draping his arm over my chair and I immediately see Jessica's face turn morose.

"You can just give me directions. I think I'll make it okay there by myself," I reply, trying to ease a little of Jessica's mood swings.

"Are you sure? What if you get lost along the way? It's near the forests."

I nod reassuringly at him. "I'll just give you a call if I can't make out the path, Mike."

Jessica's jaw relaxes and she seems to be beaming at my unwillingness to have Mike drive me to the beach. As Mike's averts his attention to Tyler and Eric who are recounting the events of the previous night's party in someone's house, I turn back to the table at the furthest corner where my reverie has been intercepted. There are three guys sitting around the table, one has his back turning to me so I can't make out his face. But the other two amazes me like some kind of discovery of a new species.

They are beautiful, so beautiful, they look almost inhuman. Their skins are pale-white and look smooth like they had been carved out of marble. Their noses, eyes, mouth are like a doll's, so perfect it is somewhat eerie. They are not touching their trays of food nor are they talking. They just sit stark straight, only their eyes moving. The structure of their bodies however differs contrastingly. One is gargantuan and burly with chestnut-brown hair spilling over his eyes. He wears a blue flannel shirt and fitting jeans. The other is lean but also well-muscled in a grey shirt and khakis. He has thick hair that is of a pale silver shade and veins running beneath the paper-white skin of his arms.

I spin around, heart beating in my throat. I am positive he caught my gaze. He must have noticed that I am staring at him like he's a freak. I conceal my face with my curtain of hair, avoiding looking back there again. Mike seems to have noticed my unease and turns back to look at the table.

"What's wrong Bella? You look you just saw a ghost," Angela, the quietest by far, asks me in a worried tone.

"She must have seen the Cullens and the Hale guy. Bunch of freaks they are," Mike snaps, tone bitter as he ploughs through his mash sweet potatoes.

"Yeah right they are. I especially hate that Emmet guy. Yeah he looks beefy and all but I ain't scared of the dude. He thinks he's all that, you know Bella. Like he could rule anyone that came his way," Eric speaks without my asking.

"Eric, he can squash you dry in a second. I think they're okay though. I mean they've never in any way disturbed us right?" Angela says reasonably which makes me like her even more.

"Whatever Angela. I have never liked them since Dr. Cullen moved into Forks two years ago. Dr. Cullen is their adoptive father but really, he looks barely thirty," Mike tells me in an unbothered tone and I am suddenly curious of the trio, especially the one my sight have been blocked from.

"Hey, Mikey do you have a condom to spare?" Tyler suddenly asks as he looks up from his phone under the table and the conversation takes a shift to Tyler's first night of making love with his steady girlfriend who is a grade below us.

I purse my lips, resting my elbows beside my tray as I try to finish my garden salad. I didn't even get a chance to ask my new companions the names of those three mysterious guys. The bell rings an immeasurable moment later and is followed by the cacophony of screeching chairs. We gather our plates together and Mike offers yet again to dispose my plate. I just nod, my eyes focusing on the three guys who have yet to move from their stony disposition. I stand beside the rubbish bin, polishing my can of Orange Crush when at last they begin to fluidly rise from their seats. They seem to be walking in unison and their steps are sinuous, like that of a ballerina's or a dancer's. Even the large one Emmet-the only name I have been introduced to.

"Bella, ready to go?" Mike asks me, beckoning to the exit.

"You go ahead first. I'll be there in a minute," I tell him hurriedly, wishing he would just leave me alone for a second and he walks on reluctantly beside Jessica and Eric.

I turn back to my front and almost drop my empty can of Orange Crush. I swallow the lump that is lodged in my throat and I feel breathless, like all the air has sucked away from me. I don't know what to feel-relief, happiness, anger? But all I could feel bubbling inside me are questions. Why? How?

I see Edward, tall and lean in a clean white sweater and jeans, hair still the same shade of ebony but with gold tints at the ends now, eyes so gold they are depthless when they are once hazel. But here and now? Is this really the Edward I know ten years ago? No, it can't be. He looks like he hasn't aged a day from that incident that seem to me happen only months before. Perhaps I am hallucinating after an over doze of Orange Crush.

_Yes. It is. _My heart whispers.

Before I know it, Angela pulls my hand softly and I am awoken from my thread of thoughts. Then I see the briefest flash of molten gold in the pools of his eyes rapidly dissolve into the deepest black as they lock with mine.

Edward Anthony Mason Cullen

Today is like any other day. It rains perpetually here and it seems like it will never stop; even in the middle of summer. If it did, then Carlisle would have kept us in the house, playing cards (most of the time, it involves heavy gambling and stripping) and drinking beer in white plastic cups. I'm glad we still get to enjoy the adrenaline brought about by alcoholic beverages-the liquid is retained in our bloodstream and gradually dissolves and as Carlisle has told me it even sustains our hunger for days, even weeks.

I feel like a child again around them. I am constantly being fed with new information or bits of news of the community like I needed to know them any more than learning photosynthesis for the sixth time in my twenty-seven years of unchanging existence. Sometimes I look at Carlisle and Jasper and Emmet with such blazing curiosity as to how they could have stand living so long, doing the same things, breathing the same (now more polluted) air and only seeing different people come and go as they continue to exist. I am clueless but Carlisle says my mind is like a sponge, absorbing as much as it can without hindrance. I think he sees me more like an experiment than a son.

My continued life has also unexpectedly brought with it a gift, or perhaps what it seems more to me a mishap. I have been taught, as a newborn, by Carlisle eight years ago that the diet he has adopted is a varying one that in the beginning, I am not willing to accept head-on. I pleaded to be freed by my maker and roamed around foreign lands by foot, hunting for food that usually came from the living, innocent people. I knew nothing then; I just knew I needed to satiate the excruciating dryness that blisters my throat. I studied the mechanics of new body-my skinny self had been replaced by a dead, corpse-white and inhumanly strong body. I had climbed the Himalayas in thirty minutes like I had always coveted when I was still human.

Then I met Jasper Hale in a train towards south of Dakota. I was shocked, having never seen a kind like myself before this. He was partially concealed in an oversize coat made of bear's fur and a bowler hat. His eyes were the blackest I had ever seen and his face looked even deader than he was already. He had a tin of vodka in his left pocket, polished dry. I came up to me and immediately, his thoughts came running helter-skelter in my mind-the gift I had gotten from my immortality. But I attempted to refrain from reading his mind-a skill I was beginning to master in the schema of other things being what I am.

"You are thirsty," I claim, sliding onto the empty seat facing this odd-looking man who looked like he has lived decades longer than I.

He didn't move a muscle but I caught a slight nod of acknowledgment that could not have been possibly visible to the human eye. The dark bruises beneath his eyes were so prominent and he looked almost weak. My forehead corrugated. Why was he putting himself under such torture? It was a wonder why he didn't just fed on the nearest human passenger in the train we were boarding.

I knew he wasn't going to share his tale with me if I had asked from his silent demeanour. I decided to put my gift to good use and slowly, began the journey through his thoughts which appeared to me a gnarled mess. I raked through and through, looking for reasons why he had ended up looking like a savage man who was on the run. What I found shocked and confused me. I observed him, lines deepening in my forehead. Then, it happened so suddenly and so fast, I was flung to the wooden wall of the cabin, the stranger's nails pierced into the hard flesh of my throat.

"How dare you," he snarled in a tone so cold, it could have beaten ice.

I was rather afraid of this man who was built like a soldier and had the strength of twenty vampires put together. He could have pulverized me in seconds I was sure of that but I remembered I was no longer the meek human I had been. I kicked him in the chest and sent him flying against the windows, almost shattering the glass.

"I wasn't trying to do anything. I just wanted to help," I told him as he collected himself as soon as I had flung him.

"Help? I don't need help from a beast like you," he spat, combing back his hair with his fingers as his hat toppled down onto the cushioned seat.

My brow arched but I didn't say anything in protest. I was just curious that was all. "Why, may I ask? Isn't it in our nature to feed from them?"

He glanced at me with ambivalent eyes as he sat back on his place. His hands ran against the rim of his bowler hat that was made of black felt. I felt a sudden calmness spiralling through me and I realized it was emitting from him. He was special. He had a gift just like I did. But it was no time to ponder of this realization. I wanted to know his story more than anything, even human's blood now.

"I'm sick of it. Sick of killing those innocent people who could have been someone's child, or mother. I am sick of feeling like I'm a monster when really the covet that comes with our nature is the uncontrollable monster. I just don't want to do it again, murdering," he explained, tone saturated in a mixture of remorse and loathe as he closed his eyes tightly.

"You're sick of living up to your own needs, your own nature?" I don't understand him at all.

He opened his eyes reluctantly and stared right through me. I didn't know how he had known I was reading his mind but I knew he had lived long enough to sense his brain was being dissected piece by piece like he was doing mine.

"You haven't lived long enough to know of the misery of seeing those people dead just so you could satiate your hunger. Perhaps you will know someday. Now you're still thriving with the all the power you have just gained, not knowing of the consequences."

I clicked my tongue as I thought of my maker, Carlisle, who I hadn't seen and heard of in four years. I knew Jasper needed his help more than anything. Carlisle's way of life was a life buoy for Jasper I surmised. I considered my options, unwilling to face the maker I had left but I knew someday, I would have still to face Carlisle who had brought me eternal life from a death so close. I put my hands on my thighs and pressed my lips into a hard, thin line.

"I can help you, Jasper. If you let me. I know someone who chooses to feed on animal's blood only, never a human's. His name is Carlisle Cullen and I can take you to him," I said in a serious tone, watching as his eyes withdrew suspiciously beneath their brows.

"Who is he? How did you find out about him?" he queried, interest in his words.

My eyes strayed out of the grimy windows where Jasper's scalp had hit, leaving a small dent and a hairline crack that was barely visible. I looked back at him and felt a smile creeping over my face.

"He is my maker," I had told him, sounding almost boastful.

We searched for Carlisle through and through and found him in Alaska with a group of other 'vegetarians' a term Carlisle often used. I learnt the ways of self-control from the group besides my maker and attempted to change my diet alongside Jasper. It had been arduous for years of not feeding the satiating blood of humans but with Jasper and Emmet, who joined us no longer than us, I was determined.

"_What are you thinking about, Edward_?" Jasper's voice suddenly filled my mind and my eyes move to him, sitting statue-like on the chair across from me. Another special ability of the immortal that I still am not used to-we are able to communicate with our minds.

"_Nothing. Just reminiscing. Are you alright?" _I ask, suddenly wary of his sudden interruption of my thoughts.

His head slightly shifts to the left and casts his eyes on the tables where Mike Newton's group occupied. I don't follow his gaze, tracing the hem of my jeans with a finger. He spins back slowly, thick, black brows furrowed. I watch the slight change in my brother's countenance with a mind full of questions. He does not speak and continues our silent communication.

"_Have you seen the new girl? Or should I say smelled her?" _He looks slightly amused but I am never really certain when it comes to Jasper.

"_No, I haven't. I'm not reading the thoughts of the humans here. Privacy and all that. But I bet she is on everyone's minds now,"_ I respond, having let slip a little of my control over my power when I accidentally heard Angela Weber's mild anticipation of meeting the new human two hours ago during History.

"_Well, she's one kind of a human, Edward. I thought she would be one of those imbecile females like that Jessica girl_." I am curious at Jasper's sudden interest in this newcomer. He had never been the one for making friends, or even speaking a word to humans. I suppose he still feels superior over the mortals.

"_Why the sudden interest, Jasper? You've never talked about_ _a human before. Why this girl_?" I keep my tone a tad acidic as I sense Emmet's voice beginning to surface in my head, joining in this little discussion.

"_What Jasper has a crush on the new girl now? Jasper, I never knew you had a taste for humans," _Emmet teases, like he does often, giving Jasper a wink.

Jasper scowls and his nose scrunches a little. _"I'm going to pulverize your balls when we're at home later, Emmet. And no, I do not have a crush on the human. I don't even know what crushes are."_

"_Crushes are when you think 'she's one kind of a human' and don't think she's like 'one of those imbecile females like that Jessica girl'. Jaz, don't be embarrassed or anything. Anyway, vampire girls are so overrated." _Emmet sniggers, biting the edge of his lips.

Jasper shoots a fiery glance at Emmet and in nanoseconds, Emmet's chair looses balance under his weight and Emmet's butt almost hits the floor but he manages to grip on the side of the table and catch the falling chair before it is too late. Jasper must have yanked Emmet's leg in the hopes he would topple off the chair.

The bell rings and students begin pushing their chairs back and gathering their empty food trays together while the three of ours remain untouched. We take our time and only move toward the rubbish bin after half of the littered cafeteria is empty. I sense someone scrutinizing my movements as I walk in measured steps. I scan the whole room, at the unoccupied tables and chairs, at the women manning the food counters and the spill of chocolate-brown hair over the sweet-milk-white neck of a girl standing inches away from me. My throat suddenly burns and I feel my temples throbbing. I stared at the heart-shaped face and the small nose, feeling ill at ease.

That face, I have seen it before. But I barely remember anything of my human life and my sight is blocked by the shoving humans. Her nebulous visage dissipates and I am engulfed by covet for the sweet blood that runs through her veins.

I could kill a thousand humans just to get to her.

_Guys, I have played around with vampiric traits and made some of my own. So don't get shocked or anything if you've never heard vampires drink alcohol. Cause its pure imagination. :)_


	3. Chapter 3

3. My Iron Lung

Edward Anthony Mason

_January, 1999_

I polish the tequila in a minute and slam the empty decanter on the wooden counter. It rattles a little at the force and the bartender, a slender blonde in a skin-tight white tee shirt which exposes much of her uneven-tanned skin moves her head at my direction and shoots me a look. I stare back at her as I try to squeeze my hand through the pockets of my jeans without standing and notice her previously angry countenance shift for a friendlier one. Her eyes scan me as her blood-red lips gather into a pout, every inch of her skin radiating with sheer lust. I place a fiver on the counter beside my drink and grab my bag to leave. She walks over to me, a table-cloth sized kitchen towel slung over a shoulder.

"It's on the house actually. Where are you from? I've never seen you around here before," she says, batting her fake eyelashes as she picks the decanter with manicured hands.

"I'm from Chicago. Just came here for a trip," I reply, attempting to keep my voice as far as possible, not estranged as I run my hands through my uncultivated hair.

"Oh, I see. You must be the kind who loves backpacking around the world. Well, I personally think that is the most romantic thing ever," she mutters in a modulated tone, gazing through me with mud-brown eyes as she slides the money back to me.

"Take it. I can't just have a free drink right. What would your other customers say?" I am in a tight situation now. I am not even that attractive (well at least that is what I think) and I must have been at least ten years her junior. She licks her lips and shakes her head, refusing payment.

"No, I won't take it even if you forced me. Didn't you know? One of the bar's policy is giving free drinks to attractive people like you."

I cringe but I try to mask my distaste with a grin.

"You are one delicious teenager aren't you?" she whispers into my ear, grabbing the collar of my flannel shirt tightly as her lips move slowly from my earlobe to the bridge of my nose. My heart is beating so loudly, the corpulent man on the bench beside us who is attempting in vain to look away must have heard its thuds against my chest. Lucky, the bar has only few patrons or we could have gathered an audience.

I place my hands gently on hers and try to pull myself away. She senses my reluctance and her lips pause on my taut jaw. She looks at me and giggles, putting her head against my chest although the counter separates us and allows little movement. She touches the tip of my chin with a cool finger and gradually takes a step back, appraising me with glazed eyes. I swallow a lump that is lodged in my throat, feeling sudden warmth poking through the skin of my arms.

"You're so young and beautiful, aren't you? I'm sorry. I got caught up with my own emotions. I shouldn't have done that. It scared the shit out of you, I can tell," she says, sanity dawning over her as she leans on the crimson wall, head bowed to the floorboards.

I observe the woman, sympathy washing over me as I attempt to guess what has led to the sudden outburst she has performed moments ago. I shrug into my parka and perch back at the edge of the fabric stool.

"Hey, it's okay. I mean I don't mind if you want to share your problems with me. If that's what you want," I say in the most placating tone I can manage, not even having the slightest idea why I am doing this now, here in this foreign place. Phoenix, Arizona has never been on my list of favoured places to travel but here I am, unshaved and counselling this depressed, hormonal woman I meet in a bar.

She looks up slowly, ambivalent. She clears her throat and throws the towel into the sink where water runs over beer mugs and emptied plates. She is pretty notwithstanding her attempts at looking slutty. Her hair would have looked beautiful combed and a nice dress would accentuate her curves perfectly. My brows arch. Number one on my Carpe Diem list is to fall in love. Is this love at last? My eyes scan over her once more and I almost laugh aloud. If anything, she would be more a sister than a lover to me.

"My boyfriend just died in a car accident last month. I just, I just can't get over the fact that he's not here with me anymore," she stutters, tone croaky and I nod, urging her to continue talking.

"I keep wishing he would be beside me and cuddling me to sleep. I close my eyes and I pray but he never comes. People say he's in heaven. In heaven, you can get anything you want and love. But I don't really think he's there. Because if he is, wouldn't I be there too?" Her eyes are getting teary and she is struggling to keep them there and not roll over her heavily-rouged cheeks.

I should have known it. It must be some death-related matter-like I need more of that now. I cough silently and take her trembling hands in mine. "You are going to be there someday. I mean, all humans, no matter what, we will have to go and leave the world someday. Then we'll reunite with our loved ones. But for now, you'll just have to continue living."

"How would you know that? You don't know anything. You're just a teenager," she accuses sharply, anger so blatant in her eyes, it scares me a little.

But I just keep smiling. "I don't know it. But I believe it."

Her eyes are like marbles as she stares at me, hard. She rubs her thumb against my temple like a mother would do to her son. I suddenly miss my own mother. I can almost feel her arms around me, so warm and comfortable.

She nods her head thoughtfully, gripping my hands as though clutching for dear life. "How can you be so young and so wise?"

"Well, like people say, you don't have to be old to be dying." I smile meekly as her grasp loosen.

She chortles and wipes her cheeks roughly with her shirt. "I've been such a baby. I'm sorry for even bothering you with my problems. You should go now. It's not safe to be walking around too late here in Phoenix. There are thugs everywhere and they even have guns with them."

I smile and pat her gently on the shoulder. I give her soft kiss on the forehead and she beams before shooing me out the door which coincidentally swings open to let a middle-aged man in full Western regalia. I walk out into the chill air of Phoenix. The travel brochure had promised sunshine and lots of them but there is only the persistent rain which clouds the place, a rare phenomenon here. I take a deep breath and close my eyes. I am thinking of Jane and Sam back in Chicago, Illinois. They must be wandering where I had gone to. I told them I was going to meet Mum and Dad and they had believed.

I am going to meet them soon.

I have stopped praying now since the doctor told me I don't have any chances of recovering. Chemotherapy, radiation, pills after pills of varying colours. I have tried them all to no avail. I am sick of lying helpless on the bed while some doctor suggests a new kind of treatment that won't work. I am sick of looking at Jane and Sam sitting at the edge of my bed and asking me when I would hop up and play Jenga with them like we had when Mum and Dad were still alive. I am sick of even hoping anymore. I don't want Jane and Sam to watch as I slowly die away. That is why I made a decision to leave.

I have been in this foreign neighbourhood for almost a week now, living on bottled water and the dregs of a bag of Doritos and sleeping in cheap motels which smell of pee and cigarettes. I am not enjoying it but it sure as hell a whole lot better than being cooped up in the hospital room, fighting the strong, vexing scent of antiseptic. I am not sure when I would collapse and die, perhaps, somewhere on the street. I don't really care at all.

Water has seeped into my shoes, making them heavy. I stop in front of a red mail box and sit on the curb. I begin untying my laces. I hit my shoes against the ground, letting the debris and water that have managed to make its way through inside. I inspect the soles of the five-year old off-white shoes and cringe. I most definitely need a new pair if I wanted to avoid walking barefoot in the next three days. But I barely even have any money with me. I slip my socked feet back into the shoes and continue heading to no particular direction.

"Fuck you!"

My gaze rapidly averts from the scatter of overhanging trees in the park across the road to the direction of the shouted blasphemy. I hear a slight, meek cry of a girl as I watch a rather overweight man looking over at his friend who has fallen onto the ground, a hand over his arm as he groans in pain in the alley of Orpheum Street. I catch a glimpse of a petite girl pinned to the brick wall, struggling as she attempts to free herself. The man begins to pull off her jacket and throws it to the side. Then, his fingers travel down her button-down shirt greedily.

"Hey!" I yell as I run towards him and kick his knees hard.

"What the fuck."

My hands, balled into fists, are impalpably cold as I feel pearls of sweat coursing through my fire-flushed cheeks. I smash the fucker's nose with as much drive as a wrestler's and brandish my fists to work on his ribs next. Instantaneously, without my realization either, he rises and attacks my left arm roughly with bloody hands. I blaspheme beneath ragged breath and scratch his shins in return. He winces loudly, almost sounding like a howl.

I spin from my groaning contender and find a girl no older than ten leaning against a dumpster, hugging her knees to her chest. I slowly rise, attempting in vain to repress the excruciating ache searing my wounded arm. Breathing heavily, the man doubles over in pain, clutching his thick waist. I step back from the bashed-up bastard and spits on the tar.

"Don't think you can mess with me kid," he yells, sliding over the cobble-stoned pavement with his unharmed elbows.

I turn back to him and stoop over so low, I can see his eyes withdraw suspiciously over his brows. I slap his head roughly and kick his groin for the twentieth, hard. He whimpers but doesn't have the energy to retaliate with equal force. Instead, he coughs out blood and shields his privates with his hands like a fucked up baby.

I move across to the trembling girl and place a palm on her cool forehead. ""Are you alright? God, you're cold."

I wrap her in her jacket and carry her in my arms. I step over the ground that is strewn with matted rubbish and fish bones. I jog to the park, her small, fragile body still shivering and lay her on the nearest wooden bench cautiously. She stirs slightly, eyes protuberant.

"Are you an angel?" she asks, her voice coming out as a croak. There are a few faint scars running across the cream-white skin of her cheek.

I take her arms gently in my hands and examine the deep purplish-blue bruises that map her soft skin.

"Your hand is hurt. I should send you to a hospital," I tell her as I feel the electric shivers of her skin beneath my hands.

"You haven't answered my question." She pulls her hands away and hides it beneath her jacket.

I give her a weak smile. "No, I'm just Edward. And you are?

"Isabella. But you can just call me Bella."

I nod, rubbing disproportionate circles on my thighs as I observe her sharp features and the locks of chocolate-brown hair that frames her heart-shaped face. "Why are you out so late, Bella? Are you lost?"

"No, I was just walking home from my ballet class. My mum couldn't drive me home," she mutters simply, licking her pinkish lips.

"Well, maybe I should give your mum a ring," I suggest, conjuring a serious tone as my eyes swivel around the park and the street across for any pay phones available where I could make a call to Bella's mother of her whereabouts.

"Please, don't tell her," she quickly cadges me, her little hands flying to mine and gripping them firmly as she looks deep into my eyes as though attempting to gather meaning from them. I swallow, pondering for a moment and hold her still-quivering shoulders, assuring.

I nod and she lets out a breath of relief." Let me walk you home, Bella,"

She leads me toward the direction of the block of apartments along a quiet, empty street that is dimly-lit by the streetlights (one of them flickers and gives me a slight headache apart from the throbbing pain on my left arm which I try to ignore). She is not very good at making sociable conversation and neither am I. Bella told me she's eight but she doesn't sound eight at all. In fact, she sounds more adult than most adults I know and that is peculiar. She even settles the house bills for her mother. Well, at least that is according to her.

But I know she never lies.

"It seems like my childhood is being ripped off too soon. I mean I'm eight and I have to help my mum settle the bills and cook dinner for her. All my other friends are having sleepovers and playing dress up," she says, pink lips forming into a pout.

I chortle silently slipping my other hand into the back pocket my black jeans. "Well, I'm no different than you. I had to take care of my little brothers and sisters when my parents died in a car crash a year ago. But it's kind of great right? You learn so much about yourself when others sneak pot cookies to prom night and drink themselves dead."

She frowns, a curious expression plastered over her face. "What are pot cookies?"

I begin to panic. I should not have mentioned that to an innocent eight-year old. "Um, you'll know what they are when you're older."

I merely nod, listening to the rhythm of our footsteps. We are already nearing Renee's apartment. The windows are pitch-black.

"Well, I'm here," she announces, looking a tad doleful.

She skips up the three steps to the door of a moss-covered building and I watch as she bobs slightly on the heels of her Converse. "Thanks for helping me. I can't imagine what would have happened if you weren't there. What happened to them anyway?"

"Beat them into pulps. But don't worry; I don't think they'll bother you anymore."

She nods slowly and begins unlocking the door. "So, I'll see you around?"

"You will, Bella. Definitely."

She smiles widely and waves, closing the door behind her. There is a twinkle in her glazed eyes. I make my way back to the motel sluggishly and the rain has finally stop, replaced by a silent shower of drizzle. My body feels tired and I clutch my arm, scrutinizing the peeling skin and the crimson blobs of blood that clings to the skin of my elbow. I'll probably need a bandage for that. I saunter pass a black cat which stares at me coldly with its pair of florescent-yellow eyes. Then, I hear a familiar shout behind me.

"Oi!"

I turn around and come face to face with man I bashed up not too long ago. He is pointing a gun at the direction of my forehead. The bartender's voice rings in my ears almost automatically_, "there are thugs everywhere and they even have guns with them."_

"You can't fuck around with me now, can ya?" His crisp falsetto resonates through the night.

I should have fled from that very deleterious spot. I could have run like I am in a marathon, conjuring as much speed and energy just to get away from him, from my inevitable and imminent demise. But I don't. I just stand stark still, hands still in the pockets of my jeans as I stare back at the repugnant man before me with his hirsute appearance. I don't attempt to put up a stalwart front. Instead, I just breathe and look at him.

"Do it. Pull the trigger," I mutter, toneless.

He guffaws, revealing a pair of coffee-stained, chipped teeth. "You're gonna act like you have a fucking big dick now huh? I told you, don't mess with me."

I shake my head, pressing my lips into a hard, thin line. "I am not messing with you. Pull the trigger now. "

I don't know what demon has gotten into me. He shoots me an incredulous look and his hands have begun to tremble a little with the weight of the gun and blatant fear. I know he will not do it. I know he won't pull the trigger. I know I won't die so soon. I attempt to eradicate those sentiments that tell me otherwise. I am sucking in so much air that I am beginning to feel drunk.

His shoulders are squared and his lips part slightly as though he wants to speak but no words come out of them. I carve him a meek smile and turn my back to him. He does not respond and remains motionless. I am just about to continue walking down the cobbled pathway when he shouts hoarsely one more time.

"Fuck you, scumbag."

It occurs with such dizzying rapidity that what I know an innumerable moment later is only the blinding darkness and silence. Such formidable silence which could only make me picture the worst that could have happened. I can't breathe; it feels like there are bands of rubber tightening around my heaving lungs. I gulp in mouthfuls of the acrid air but I still feel suffocated. My feet are numb and I can't feel them at all. My teeth are chattering uncontrollably and I begin to walk, staggering forwards although I can't feel my limbs or move them. Pain sears across my chest and stomach down to my stiff, white toes. I double up and fall onto the ground, coughing out blood on the concrete.

My vision returns but everything I am able to see is nebulous. I can see the tall green grass in the park and the sky. The dark blue sky on which the night's first stars were already beginning to glimmer feebly. My eyes swivel around the vacant road but I don't see the murderer anywhere. He has fled. A coward. I hear my own ragged breathing, hands shielding my chest where blood is gushing out, drenching the fabric of my shirt. I don't feel any pain now. I am numb.

"Sir, sir, help," I cry out upon seeing a gangly man with a cap of shimmering, silver hair walking toward me, frowning but he seems like he does not sense my presence.

He walks past me, not even flinching. His skin is iridescent beneath the phosphorescence glow of the headlights; they seem to sparkle a little like diamonds. I try to reach out for his pant legs but I don't have the energy to move a muscle. I call out for him but he doesn't even look back. My breathing is getting shallower; the pain resurfacing like a blade is slicing through my flesh. I wince as I repress from yelling my heart out.

My lids are half-closed. My head feels like it is about to burst. I feel something brush through my hair and softly stroking my scalp. It feels ice-cold beneath my skin. I shiver slightly. The man who had ignored me earlier is looming over me. I study his comely features. He looks almost god-like. Perhaps he is god.

"What's your name, son?" he asks, his hands gliding across my neck.

"Ed...ward," I stammer, a lump lodged in my throat.

"Edward..." He grips my wrists tightly and I see a pair of razor-sharp fangs retract. "I'm Carlisle."

Before I could take another breath, he has sunk his teeth into the flesh at my throat in an impetuous rush. I yell but no sound comes out of my opened mouth. I feel the most excruciating pain I have ever felt in my seventeen years of existence that I am completely breathless.

And I thought I would die of cancer.

Isabella Marie Swan

_June, 2009_

I keep thinking about him. I skim through the rest of the classes on autopilot as the incident that occurred ten years ago does re-loops in my head without leaving the slightest of meaning behind. Jessica's mouth keeps moving during trigonometry but I don't catch what she is saying most of the time. But she seems content enough to just talk without gathering any feedback from me. I nod and attempt to do a trig sum but fail, my thoughts conquered by the Edward I knew when I was child. Is he really that Edward I've dreamt over and over for the past years? The Edward who had made me run off to Forks just to eradicate him from my mind? I honestly don't know.

I drive back to an empty home. Charlie has left me a note on the kitchen counter, telling me he would be home a little later tonight and I am free to hunt around the cabinets and refrigerator for food. I run up the stairs and throw myself onto the bed, exhausted from Jessica's endless chatter and Mike's relentless flirting. I take my Mp3 player from the lowest drawer of the bedside table and wish it isn't malfunctioning. I plug my earphones into the jack and switch it on. I smile to myself as I play the first song on my playlist. I raid for my worn-out copy of Wuthering Heights and turn to the bookmarked page. A little puff of dust rises from the covers as I give it a pat.

I must have dozed off because I wake up about two hours later, head aching and eyes groggy. I sit up lazily on the bed, leaning against the headboard. I dreamt of Edward again, only I didn't really dream but I only saw a brief flash of his face, so perfect now and so white, it looked ghostly. I stretch my arms and let out a huge yawn. I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and feel like having a cold shower. I grab my toiletries bag which I have yet to pack its contents into the medicine cabinet and walk sluggishly to the communal bathroom.

The shower doesn't last as long as I have hoped and I am dressed in my most ratty gym t-shirt and navy blue shorts in twenty minutes. I work my comb through the tangles of my shampooed hair as I climb down to the kitchen to fix myself some dinner. I am not really up to any meal so I pour myself a bowl of cereal and fill it up with a quart of chilled milk. I eat my dinner in front of the television. I switch channels but nothing appeals to me so I stick to watching an episode of Oprah. I hear keys jingling from the back door and know it must be Charlie. He places his combat boots in the corner of the kitchen and gets himself a drink, possibly a can of beer, from the fridge before moving to the sitting room. I am a keen listener.

"Hey, having cereal for dinner? That seems odd," he greets me, sinking into a decrepit armchair beside me.

"I'm not really up to anything heavy tonight. Have you eaten? I could fix some dinner for you if you want," I offer, sitting up a little straighter on the off-white couch.

He shakes his head, sipping his beer. "Nah, I'm quite full. Harry Clearwater treated me some of his home-made fish fry in the afternoon. So, how was the first day of school?" He looks terrifyingly excited to listen to the recount of my day.

"It was okay. Met some friends and the teachers are all great. But the school is kinda small. The one in Phoenix is like two times the size," I say, trying to leave out the fact that I actually hate the teachers especially Mr. Mason.

"Well, that's great. I'd like to meet your friends someday. Have any homework today? I haven't fixed the nightlight in your bedroom. I'll remember to do it tomorrow morning." His eyes are glued to the television screen and he seems to be talking more to himself than me.

I go to the kitchen and do the dishes before going back to my room. I give Charlie a kiss on his weathered cheek as I pass by him and he seems to freeze for a moment like I have stolen something from him, his pride perhaps? Then I see a wide smile creep over his face and he snatches the remote from the centre of the coffee table and turns to the sports channel to watch a rerun of the game.

I return to the poster bed and wrap myself in knitted blankets as I get cosy. I don't feel like doing anything else tonight besides sleeping and perhaps, hopefully, dream of Edward again. I chastise myself for hoping that-like I need any more reminding of him. The only reason why I came to Forks was to forget about him, forget everything that happened so long ago. But I know I am incapable of it. It seems so silly, running away from something I haven't seen or heard of for such a long time. I have lost hope of ever seeing him again and there he is, right before me, like he had been ten years ago, only more beautiful.

_I am standing in a narrow corridor of some unknown hotel, the lights dimmed overhead on the wood panelled ceiling and the only sound I can hear is my irregular breathing. I am panting but I don't ever remember running or even walking. I look down at myself. I am wearing a white threadbare dress with ebony ribbons tied to my ankles. My fingers brush through my hair which is combed loosely in its tresses over my neck and temples. I am dressed like I am going to a party. _

_My feet move slowly forward though my mind exhorts my body to not move an inch anywhere. My hands are trembling slightly from the frigid air and my toes shiver in their laced-up sandals. I move along closed doors, wandering what lay inside without much curiosity or interest. My hands glide over the marmalade orange walls as I walk in measured steps. My movement makes muffled noises against the maroon carpeted floor. The warm colours of this place are deceiving. _

_I stop before the only ajar black door, hands circled around the cool, silver knob. I push it open slightly and make my way into the small room which looks very much like the hotel room I used to stay with Charlie during our little trips outside Phoenix and Forks when I was a child. The sitting room is empty, adorned with two plump armchairs and a glass coffee table which bears nothing but a vase of fresh baby-breaths. I finger the pale blue flowers as I cross the threshold, shutting the door behind me noiselessly. _

_The walls of the room are cream coloured and I sense light flickering from deeper inside. There is a stone hearth overlooking the long, sash windows that are covered by white, muslin curtains in the single bedroom. Orangey flames crackle and spit, emitting such warmth that pulses throughout the room. I gaze at the man that is seated at the edge of a wicker chair before the fire, his back turned to me. He is not wearing anything but a pair of clean white boxer shorts, exposing a smooth, porcelain-white bare back and muscled legs. His shorn hair turns a golden-brown, illuminated by the flames. His elbows rest on his thighs and as I approach him ditheringly, he seems to be crying. _

_I place a hand cautiously over his shoulder but he doesn't even stir. His head is bowed to his lap and drops of blood trickle down his chin, staining his boxers scarlet-red. I wipe a blob of crimson with the tip of my finger and pull his chin to face me. I almost choke on my own breath. My heart skips a beat as I compartmentalize each feature in my brain. He stares back at me with jet-black eyes, breathing deeply. He is crying tears of blood. _

"_Edward," I sigh, feeling breathless as fear slowly creeps over me. _

_He doesn't say anything in return, instead, takes my hand slowly and gently pulls me toward him. He caresses my forehead and temples with milky hands. I melt instantaneously at his touch. I push my lips softly to his earlobe and run my fingers through strands of his dark hair. He pushes me down until I am lying on his lap and I watch as a pair of fangs extends in his agape mouth. He seems to let out a slight moan as he traces patterns onto the skin of my neck with a finger. I touch the sharp things, like a blade over my skin. _

_I shift my head slightly to the left, exposing more of the skin of my neck. Edward moves in deeper and tucks his head under my chin. I close my eyes and wait for him to bite through the veins that snake beneath my skin. He grips my nape and brushes his fangs over it. _

"_Bella..."_

"Bella, Bella, are you alright?"

Charlie rushes into my room, bathrobes billowing under his feet. I am sitting straight up on the bed, tee shirt soaked to the skin with perspiration. My breathing is ragged and my mouth feels dry. I must have shouted in my sleep, waking Charlie up from his slumber. He sweeps back my drenched hair from my face and holds me like I am a doll.

That has to be the most ridiculous and scariest dream I ever had. I shake my head and lick my chapped lips with my tongue. A line appears between Charlie's brows as he fusses over me and switches on the china lamp on the side of my bed.

"Dad, I'm okay. I just had a dream," I tell him, pushing his hands off my face gently and his face relax a little.

"A nightmare, more like. Do you want to tell me anything about it, Bella, dear?" he placates me, smoothing out the creases on my shorts and patting it lovingly.

With teeth hooking to chapped lips, I shake my head again. Charlie must know that I am a naturally noisy sleeper-nightmare or not. But I am touched by this sudden affectionate of a father I haven't lived with more than ten years. "No, Dad. It's nothing really. I usually scream or talk in my sleep. Mum used to be bothered by my bad sleeping habits."

"Are you sure, Bella? Do you want me to get you a glass of water or something? Maybe a chocolate cake? I have some leftovers from Jacob Black's birthday party last month," he says, sounding a little confused with his fatherly responsibilities.

I grin, throwing my arms over Charlie in a reassuring hug. "Dad, I'm alright, really. You should go back to bed. You're starting your early shift tomorrow morning right?"

He presses me tight against his hard, sturdy body and I see the curve of a smile plastered across his face. I can see how Renee used to love him so many years ago. Though what confuses me, why that love didn't last as long as it should? Renee didn't even give it a chance to blossom and grow and had left screaming out the door of this very house. I pity Charlie so much, it hurts.

"Okay then. You should get some sleep too. Goodnight, Bella," he mutters, rising from the bed and stands over the threshold, hands poised over the doorframe as he turns off the lamp light which glows a dim orange, just like the flames in the hearth that was in my dream.

"Oh, and remind me about that nightlight tomorrow. I'm getting old," he continues and closes the door behind him as he leaves me alone again in the small room with the aged rocking chair overlooking the mullioned windows that has been there since I was an infant.

I can't sleep again so I just stare at the yellow ceiling, studying the cobwebs at the corners for another hour or so before I fully wake up and begin sorting out the books I have bought with me that are still in my duffel bag. I pile them neatly over the study desk that is pushed against the mauve wall beneath the windows. I wish Charlie had prepared a book shelve before I moved in but I don't complain. He has done everything he could for me already.

I move to the wardrobe and throw the doors wide open. I browse through the meagre tops I have hanging across the pole and decide on a cotton white dress that resembles a little like the dress I had worn in the dream and a paisley-printed cashmere cardigan. I take a quick shower and slip into my clothes. I let my hair fall in its tresses over my back.

I look at myself in the mirror and smile a satisfied smile. I'm going to march up to that guy today and, well I'll think of what to do. Yes, I am ready. Edward, here I come.

_Guys, I've made some changes to the story. So give some feedback as to whether or not this story bores you or whether I should continue writing. These few chapters are kind of boring cause they're just introductions so yeah. And fans of Jacob Black, sorry! He won't be in this story but he'll make some appearances here and there. Fans of Jasper, rejoice! He's playing a major part here. Yeah so enjoy!_


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